“Weep, relentless eye of Nature,
      Drop some pity on the soil,
   Every plant and every creature
      Droops and faints in dusty toil.”

What do the plants toil at?  I thought we knew they toil not, neither do they spin.  It goes on—­

   “Then the cattle and the flowers
      Yet shall raise their drooping heads,
   And, refreshed by plenteous showers,
      Lie down joyful in their beds.”

Whether the flowers are to lie down in the cattle beds or the cattle are to lie down in the flower beds does not perhaps distinctly appear, but I venture to think that either catastrophe is not so much to be desired as the poet seems to imagine.

In the Diary of Jeames yellowplush a couplet of Lord Lytton’s Sea Captain is thus dealt with—­

         “Girl, beware,
   The love that trifles round the charms it gilds
   Oft ruins while it shines.”

“Igsplane this men and angels!  I’ve tried everyway, back’ards, for’ards, and in all sorts of tranceposishons as thus—­

The love that ruins round the charms it shines
Gilds while it trifles oft,

or

   The charm that gilds around the love it ruins
   Oft trifles while it shines,

or

   The ruin that love gilds and shines around
   Oft trifles while it charms,

or

   Love while it charms, shines round and ruins oft
   The trifles that it gilds,

or

   The love that trifles, gilds, and ruins oft
   While round the charms it shines.

All which are as sensable as the fust passidge.”

Dryden added coarseness to strength in his remarks when he wrote of one of Settle’s plays:—­“To conclude this act with the most rumbling piece of nonsense spoken yet—­

   ’To flattering lightning our feigned smiles conform,
   Which, backed with thunder, do but gild a storm.’

Conform a smile to lightning, make a smile imitate lightning; lightning sure is a threatening thing.  And this lightning must gild a storm; and gild a storm by being backed by thunder.  So that here is gilding by conforming, smiling lightning, backing and thundering.  I am mistaken if nonsense is not here pretty thick sown.  Sure the poet writ these two lines aboard some smack in a storm, and, being sea-sick, spewed up a good lump of clotted nonsense at once.”  Dryden wrote in a fit of rage and spite, and it is not necessary to be vulgar in order to be strong; but it is really a good thing to expose in plain language the meandering nonsense which, unless detected, is apt to impose upon careless readers, and so to encourage writers in their bad habits.

A young friend of mine imagined that he could make his fame as a painter.  Holding one of his pictures before his father, and his father saying it was roughly and carelessly done, he said, “No, but, father, look; it looks better if I hold it further off.”  “Yes, Charlie, the further you hold it off the better it looks.”  That was severe, but strong and just.  The young man had no real genius for painting, and his father knew it.